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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27004855">"So, you're into getting shot? NICE!"</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyTeaLeaves/pseuds/SaltyTeaLeaves'>SaltyTeaLeaves</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Monster Prom (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ahegao, Anal, Bloodplay, Demons, Fangplay, Gay, Gore, Gunplay, Hardcore Masochism, Heatplay, M/M, Male Slash, Masochism, Monsters, Painplay, Sadism, Sadomasochism, Slime, Teeth, Teratophilia, Violent Sex, Vomiting, dubcon, puke play, slimeboy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:09:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,450</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27004855</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyTeaLeaves/pseuds/SaltyTeaLeaves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Part One of a Three Part Art Trade. </p><p>Damien encounters Oz in the bathrooms. Damien has a fully loaded pistol, with Oz's name on every bullet.<br/>Figuratively. </p><p>Still going to fuck him with the gun though.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Damien LaVey/Yellow | Oz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>"So, you're into getting shot? NICE!"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
His whining, gargling squeal filled the bathrooms, tenor rising up into a warbling crescendo before settling back within its confining cage with a weak whimper. His hands scraped uselessly at the wet, grimy floor; desperate for something to steady himself upon other than his own, shaking body. The very form of his being felt as if it was coming apart, and what was a thin layer of black slime oozing from an almost rubbery surface had now become a particularly viscous, sticky mess. <br/>
The obvious adverse effect of this was wherever Oz dragged his nails upon, trying in vain to stand back up, black streaks followed his desperate attempts at stability. His lids hung low, darkness oozing over them and rolling freely across the pearl expanse of the pupil-less orbs that were his eyes. It dribbled in tandem with the almost milk-like white fluid that was, presumably, what a being comprised of the physical embodiment of fear wept. </p><p>"Shit, holy fuck..." A voice not in pain, but soaked in mirth, whispered aloud within these graffiti covered walls. It was fiery like a burning Autumn day still under the stranglehold of Summer's oppressive heat. Niether the blood - or, realistically; ink - puddling beneath the injured student demanded his shock, nor the constant throb and dribble of the salty fluid escaping Oz's injured thigh. Demons beheld carnage on a frequent basis, and for Damien? Such a notion proved true doubly so, given his insatiable lust for violence<br/>
It was the firm, twitching length present in his victim's pants.<br/>
"Like, Brian said you a FUCKED UP piece of work, but like..." The handsome hellspawn gestured with the end of his smoking gun held lazily towards Oz, who somehow managed to blush through his melting form. Was he ashamed? Or just turned on beyond all recourse?<br/>
"You're really into this sort of kinky shit, huh? Fuck." Damien squatted down, leaning over the injured monster to inspect them thoroughly - he did, after all, take great pride in his work. His fathers would be proud. The heavy aroma of volcanic ash and cheap body-spray hung about the jean-clad demon like a thick cloud, making Oz feel as if he'd made the unfortunate mistake of entering a burning skater-store with how nauseatingly potent the scent was. Fire, perhaps, fits a little too well given the fear embodiment's burning arousal so clearly on display for the fiery daemon.<br/>
He tried to deny it - a claim that it was anxiety driven, or that he just had a gun in his pocket - but that met Damien's own (far more tangible) firearm forced into the shadow boy's mouth before the faintest rebuke could escape. Or, at least? Any sound more appropriate than what did manage to claw its way out, especially since the moan that escaped him was anything but 'appropriate'. <br/>
"How is it, FREAK?" The hot barrel made Oz's slick mouth bubble, spit dripping free of him as he tentatively drew his tongue along the underside of it. The sharp tang of metal made his heart race. Fuck. Why was he into this? What the fuck was wrong with him? <br/>
But, it was for Damien, so... surely this was ultimately okay, right? Right? <br/>
Quandaries as to the extremity of sin and its direct relation (and due permission) garnered from interacting with those from the inferno below would have to wait, as the metal apparatus was jammed far too deep into Oz's maw for comfort. He gagged instinctively, but the fiery sinner showed no signs of stopping. He only recoiled a little when another groan of delight escaped Oz, and the slick boy's mouth opened, perhaps, a little too eagerly, displaying the rows upon rows of sharp fangs lurking just beneath the surface of the injured monster's sludge. </p><p>"The FUCK was that? Hey, hey!" A thumb dug itself into Oz's mouth and pressed back all the way to his neck. Damien's newest plaything felt like thick taffy to the touch, spreading his cheek wide open and revealing to the dom just how sharp the shorter pervert was. Tears escaped freely over Oz's cheekbones, and following their new course along the many grooves of tar-dribbling fangs now exposed to the air. <br/>
"Aw MAN, look at that! You're fucked up inside and out! Go on; say it." All Oz could manage was another pathetic groan, each garbled syllable forcing more slime out between his teethy chompers. "What's that, bitch? I CAN'T HEAR YOU. Speak up!" </p><p>How was he supposed to acquiesce those demands with a gun in his mouth? How was anyone, for that matter? It didn't help that it was pressing deeper and deeper, soon enough finding itself pressed into Oz's throat a little too depth-plungingly. The very tip of the barrel was straining against our gorgeous slime-boy's convulsing windpipe. Realisation quickly hit him just what was churning below, but Damien was having none of it. <br/>
Even when Oz began to desperately struggle against the demon's domineering grip, he was permitted no reprieve. Shame flooded his body as hot, black vomit escaped it, splattering out around the gun, soaking his shirt and repulsing Damien enough to permit Oz some space. </p><p>"What the FUCK, DUDE?!" The demon barked as he staggered back from the messy pukeslut, looking at his extended, black-soaked arm in disgust. The crying victim was in no position to apologise, nor could he focus on anything for that matter as he tried to hold the sick back with his hands. He could not. It was no use, and the abyssal tar bubbled and squirted between his fingers, ruining that (rather fashionable) yellow sweater all the more. Worse yet, the feeling quickly proved to be far more thrilling than he had bargained for. His throat pulsed, and tightened, and squelched in the most horrid way before mouthful-after-mouthful of salty sludge assailed his taste-buds, and poured out of Oz regardless of his consent. <br/>
Oz keeled over, slime dripping from his open mouth as he attempted to crawl away. He wanted this - God knows he wanted this - but that desire operated on an instinctual, primitive level of his mind. Shame overrode his arousal, but in no way diminished it. Quite the opposite, in fact, and as such? He had to get away. He didn't want this - he needed it, but he refused to admit it.</p><p>His escape met an abrupt end when Damien took a firm (or, as firm as one can manage with the inky slut) grip on Oz's hair(?), yanking him up as if he were a limp doll to be used. And Damien intended to do just that. <br/>
"Yo, that's not fucking cool man! This gun is DESIGNER." The bathroom's exit seemed an eternity away as Oz was thrust into the nearest stall, his perky rear hitting the seat with such force that he let out a yelp not unlike that of a wounded animal. There he squirmed - and despite being fully clothed, he couldn't help but feel exposed. This present problem would be rectified soon enough. </p><p>Greedy red hands gripped onto Oz's pants, tugging at them and pulling them down along with the boy's underwear to rest at his feet as he weakly kicked at Damien in some faux show of resistance, before his fatuous flailing was locked down beneath Damien's body. The demon quite literally radiated raw heat, filling the air with his hot presence. The stink of pizza and soda followed his breath free of lips parted so close to Oz's own. Knowing Damien, he probably poured the drink onto his food before eating it too.  </p><p>"What's the matter? Not gonna scream for help or nothing?" Shy as Oz was, he couldn't bear to respond honestly. <br/>
"Tsk. Your fucking loss, bitch; I'll make you scream soon enough. Y'know," He began, wiping the firearm off on Oz's shirt before continuing. "The Zed-head said you liked getting shot. It shows." He gave Oz's exposed, cute cock a nudge, earning an eager twitch from it. How easy. The engraved weapon had long since cooled from the initial blast, and its touch drew a shiver from the resistant plaything. It followed the boy's slimy thigh down, and nestled between his cheeks right before the entrance so naively eager. All it took was a yearning twitch for Damien to continue the shadowy figure's defilement, though, it was hard to imagine the demon would even rely on consent at this point. Or ever. Especially with Oz. <br/>
The gun was icy cold, and offered no give nor reprieve as it forced itself into Oz. His grunts were muffled into Damien's palm as he held the gunshot victim's head away. He wasn't concerned with the faces Oz was making, which only served to draw out the more questionable ones from the slimy slut. Damien was enjoying the show this near-virginal hole was putting on as it did its best to refuse the weapon, but alas; he wasn't giving up until Oz couldn't sit down for a week. Or more.<br/>
The barrel pressed passed the rim's taut resistance, and began to slowly (but agonizingly surely) fill him up, until the hilt met the quivering boy's entrance. <br/>
"How's it feel? You're fuckin' soaked down there. I can feel your guts tightening down on it. I mean, it's HOT, but still." Black slime trickled out over Damien's fingers, soaking his hand with salty arousal as the gun was ground into Oz as deeply as the aching hole could take, before sliding back down to the tip. But never out, never off, never a second for the tender boy's body to recuperate its strength. <br/>
This time the gun quite literally RAMMED inside Oz, sparking a shriek of delight from him, straining against his slimy depths as Damien managed to avoid squirming along. He was in charge here, so it was only to be expected that he was getting off on it too. But this intensely? <br/>
Well, no, demons are a fairly wicked sort. Checks out. </p><p>"C'mon slut, I KNOW you like this." He groaned into Oz's ear, who was presently drowning in the other man's heavy scent. "It's loaded. 45 Calibre round in the chamber. You want to feel it tear through you, like the bullet-slut you were BORN to be. I bet you'd enjoy being dragged out to a firing range and littered with rounds too, huh? You get off on this too much." He was picking up pace, sliding the intruding metal in and out at a gaining speed. Juices escaped Oz with every thrust, pooling beneath him and puddling on the floor. The whole affair was anything but quiet; Oz's sticky sap spluttered out noisily, bubbling and squirting as his over-lubed pucker was stretched and strained about the intrusion. Damien saw no issue with angling the gun in the most uncomfortable ways, if only to make his plaything whimper pathetically. His breath loud and haggard, rasping between lust-tinged gasps that betrayed how utterly enthralled he was with each disgustingly wet, sloppy thrust.<br/>
"Y'want it, don't you? You want me to turn the safety off again. Admit it, loser."<br/>
Damien pulled away, looking down at Oz with a mix of disdain and thirst. The shadowy bottom was sweating, panting, his hips bucking occasionally evident of his need. He needed this. Fuck, he needed it so badly! The rising heat in his chest felt like it was crushing his body. <br/>
He nodded. <br/>
Oz's hole was immediately stuffed to its absolute limit, pulsing and tightening instinctively as the gun pressed in with such force that his gaping pucker threatened to swallow up the trigger guard far too eagerly, before he felt what he was waiting for. That unmistakable, faint 'click'. Equal parts horror and irrefutable lust filled him to overflow as he watched as Damien pulled the gun back just enough to show off his finger nestled on the trigger ever so precariously. This time, when it slammed in, Oz couldn't hold back, and cried out like the wanton bitch he was. Again. Again. Each time his asshole was violated with the intruding steel he let out a shriek of delight, each one growing more and more lust-dumb than the previous. <br/>
A small jerk of the finger, the faintest movement, and Damien would blow inside him. All it would take was the slightest lapse in will (or care) and Oz's tender frame would be ravaged from the inside out. It didn't take long for him whilst riding this careening rollercoaster of depravity to squirt like a bitch in heat, his orgasm jetting out across his shirt in a sticky, black display of submission that was quickly lost amidst his cold sick. </p><p>"How's it feel to have a MOTHERFUCKING GUN jammed up your ASSHOLE, BITCH?" Damien was, perhaps, not the best at dirty talk, but Oz didn't care. It was Damien, and that was worth suffering through a thorough gun-fucking. 'Suffering'. <br/>
Despite just climaxing, the slimy boy was still throbbing hard, pretty prick spilling a steady stream of Stygian semen along its unattended underside - wasted and uncared for as it was. The only 'cock' he cared about presently was the unfeeling steel one currently fucking him into submission. Predominantly, pressed into his pulsing pit of pained pleasure, the gun was certainly uncomfortable, and significantly unlike the rubber phalluses any 'curious' abyssal aberration might possess, but therein lay the thrill of it. It was so unusual! It had been so cold at first, but now growing warmer as his insides heated it up to a satisfying, grunt-demanding temperature. </p><p>Heat quickly proved to be the least of Oz's worries, as Damien slammed the weapon in without nearly enough care, and a loud, ear-ringing "BANG!" sounded out from within, followed immediately by a blast of hot lead jetting out of the jet-black slime's chest. Euphoria came crashing down on him with agony in tandem, drawing a glass-shattering scream unknown to any mortal man's ears from him. The walls of his asshole had been burned, and a hole was now carved through their deepest point, passing through his many, malformed, twisted organs. Popping them in quick succession like tide-pods, before erupting from his chest in a flower of mangled, dark flesh. <br/>
His body offered his mind no respite as another, weaker orgasm escaped him, along with a steady flow of ink from the assailed hole, soaking Damien's hand a darker shade. The ruined slut's equally sullied shirt strained, and began to tear as the slime boy's flesh began to ripple with fangs just beneath the surface. <br/>
Well, that was just rude. Holding out on his precious Damien? How abhorrent! The demon needed to see EVERYTHING the gun-slut had to offer, and with his claws dug into the fabric, he took hold and ripped it open, baring the drooling, ruined toy's chest to the bathroom's cool air. <br/>
Sleek, taut muscles had twisted and deformed away from their typically pretty design, as a near limitless array of pointed fangs just below the surface began to protrude up through the skin, spreading out into mouths that moaned and gargled hot fluids of questionable origin. </p><p>"So you do like it, huh?" <br/>
Oz nodded, dumbly, weak from the matching pair of orgasms and wounds forced from and into him respectively. The barrel slid free of the dark boy for the first time since its insertion, permitting the black slurry of lubricant and innard fluids to soak the seat beneath him, flowing onto the floor - followed by a bullet casing for good measure. Damien had an (admittedly immature) insult prepared, but it was his turn to be denied due dialogue as Oz pressed his bottom forward, spreading his perky ass for the demon to see. His oversoaked hole winked, desperate, eager, buzzing with intense need - gaping ever so slightly, but surely not nearly enough given what he deserved.<br/>
How could the Hell Prince refuse? <br/>
With a kiss planted upon the weapon for good measure, it returned into Oz, pressed deeper with the force of Damien's thrust, his own erection straining just beneath the fabric of his pants. Overworked, and understimulated, he let loose a low growl as he began to use the pistol as a surrogate prick. <br/>
The faster he grew, the more likely another gunpowder discharge became, and with his finger set over the trigger there was no doubt he intended it to as well. Pain erupted from the inky bottom as another blast ruptured his flesh, inspiring a rolling symphony of gnashing, grinding fangs to carve itself across his stomach from the latest bullet-hole behind him. Damein's red hand set itself around Oz's back, fingers digging into his tender, bleeding wound to play with him. As if his whole body was an erogenous zone to be toyed with. As if it were every anything but. </p><p>Another blast, and another - this time hitting what counted as his lungs, drawing a weaker, muffled cry as blood poured into his airways, dripping free of his mouth as he babbled incoherently. <br/>
"Don't... ngh... don't pass out yet, dork. I NEED this." The demon hissed, the tip of his hard length dotted with a wet patch of precum (and the smouldering smell of burned clothes, of course). He was growing frantic, eyes wide and teeth tightly grit lest he too was to let loose a pathetic warble of delight most unsuited for royalty.<br/>
Faster, faster! Every thrust sparking a new cry of passion from Oz' many mouths, his white eyes rolled up in his head. Blinded by fulfilling lust, he rode out each new orgasm and bullet-wound like a depraved whore. <br/>
Faster, faster! Damien's forceful grip around the pistol threatened to bend the metal, the heat of his empassioned body making the metal glow and sizzle the slime-slut's hole. Blinded by furious passion, his held back nothing until finally he pressed the gun in one last time. </p><p>The two men came - Oz into three of his gaping maws caught wide in fucked-silly depravity, whilst Damien in his briefs - their pleasure accompanied with the final gunshot. The money-shot. <br/>
The bullet ruptured the shadow slut's heart, puncturing its arteries and tearing through his neck to leave the fourth hole upon the wall this session, and yet another shell casing inside him - still hot, and glowing hot for his insides to pulse and squelch around. The two were frozen in place, shaking as the greatest orgasm of their young unlives rolled through their bodies and made their fingers tingle. <br/>
Finally, Damien pulled free, stumbling back as glowing, smoking cum trickled free of his cindering pants, and hitting the floor with a sizzle. Before the demon, the wreckage of his carnage, no; his conquest. Oz. <br/>
He was soaked in juices - blood, cum, organ fluids and sick - all a dark, midnight shade, mixing together into an ambiguous slurry and trickling over the many rows of razor-sharp fangs exposed to the air for the first time. It was his first time in a lot of ways. Blood oozed from every hole, a thick puddle of the sticky, inky tar soaking the tile-clad bathroom stall floor and creeping into the adjacent ones. His chest rose and fell weakly, eyes lidding with a mix of nirvana and exhaustion. Oz tried to rise from his torture chair, but found himself devoid of all strength. All he could do was whimper, pleading for Damien's attention.<br/>
"You can clean yourself up, right? Course you can." The demon huffed, tucking his cock into a more comfortable position in his burned underwear. Caring for others - especially those already enamoured with him - was hardly Damien's lot. That's gay. The magazine in his pistol was completely empty, and the slide had locked in place. Uncaring for the engraved firearm, he tossed it onto Oz's chest haphazardly with a wet splat. "You're buying me a new gun too, loser. This one is sticky and gross." The embodiment of fear nodded as best he could, obedient, vision blurring and fading. Such a broken bitch. It all honestly left the demon wondering if he could spare a few minutes to quickly pound inside the slimy, bleeding whore, and leave him dripping demon seed for good measure. <br/>
He'd have to make up for it again later on - after all, why not claim another plaything to pin down in his bed to violate whether they want it or not? Squirting hot Hellpsawn cum on camera would suit Oz, especially if he were crying like a good bitch during.</p><p>"Oh and, like, you should go see the school nurse or something. Because if you're dead I won't be able to do this to you again. So, y'know." Damien gestured lazily at the spent, naked boy. He was the image of fragility, broken in and left spent. </p><p>"If you're lucky, next time I'll bring a HOWITZER."</p><p> </p>
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